The Orange Alien Who Ruined Donna's Shoes
by Sparkly Daleks
Summary: The Doctor makes the mistake of underestimating Donna and her high-heels. Then again, he hadn't counted on an orange alien with a gun following them across the galaxy to arrest them for insulting the king of Laxonomy.


He could tell by the way she was looking at him that she was going to ask.

Rummaging in the pocket of his coat, the Doctor pulled out a copy of the Zumberon Gazette from the year 3042 and held it up in front of him to cover his face.

'Doctor...'

The Doctor knew that the words 'what the hell?' were on the tip of Donna's tongue, but he couldn't really blame her. They'd been enjoying a rather nice, if not strange drink at a bar on Gravatem, a place the Doctor had landed on because he insisted he was good friends with the vice vice-president.

And, he'd pointed out; you couldn't get arrested by guards from another planet when you were friends with a politician.

Now, the Doctor was hiding his face behind a newspaper of some sort and muttering to himself, which may or may not have been due to the drink he'd just had. To Donna it had tasted rather like a screwdriver mixed with pineapple juice, but the Doctor had warned her that it was much more deadly.

Donna drained the last of her drink and frowned at the Doctor, wondering what was going on inside his head.

'Doctor, what...?'

'Shhh,' interrupted the Doctor from behind his newspaper. 'We're hiding.'

Donna glanced around the bar. There were a few random aliens dotted about, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary (if you counted blue skin as ordinary, which Donna did, at least on this planet).

Then it dawned on her.

'They've found us, haven't they?' she asked.

The paper crackled as the Doctor turned the page. 'Uh-huh.'

'But Doctor, you said they wouldn't find us here!' complained Donna. 'You said if we flew to one of the smallest planets at the north end of the galaxy, they'd never think to come here.'

'Sorry. I think I might have meant one of the biggest planets at the south end of the galaxy.'

Donna frowned, doing another glance around the room at the various tables and booths, at which blue-skinned aliens sat drinking various alcoholic drinks made of God knew what.

'I can't see them,' she told the Doctor. 'Where are they?'

'At the bar. Fellow with orange skin and really small eyes. Has a gun of some sort in the pocket of his jacket.'

Donna stared at the bar, trying to look as if she wasn't staring. Indeed, an alien that fitted the Doctor's description was leaning against the bar and chatting to the bartender.

'Not him,' groaned Donna. 'Not him! Of all the guards on that great big stupid planet, they've got to send him after us.'

'Why do you hate him so much?' asked the Doctor from behind the Zumberon Gazette. 'Aside from the fact that he tried to kill us, of course? But then, everyone on that planet was trying to kill us.'

'He,' Donna jerked her head towards the bar, even though she doubted the Doctor could see her behind his paper, 'ruined my shoes. My best high-heels, these are. He wrecked them, the minging idiot. I'll never get them repaired.'

The Doctor thought about asking Donna why she'd wear her best high-heels to an alien planet, but then decided not to, since her temper would be even shorter after the drink.

'Look!'

He was kicked rather hard in the shin by a high-heel and grudgingly bent under the table to inspect the shoe damage. What had once been a pair of black and shiny close-toed high-heels were now a pair of grey scuffed high-heels with a hole in the toe of the left shoe.

'Oh, dear,' said the Doctor, trying to sound convincingly sympathetic.

He sat back up again and went back to his paper.

Donna glared at him.

'It's all very well you sitting here and hiding beneath some newspaper,' she hissed. 'But what are we going to do? Old Orange Face isn't going to stay chatting at the bar forever. Eventually he's going to look around and see us. And when he sees us, that's bad. That's really bad.'

'He won't see us if you don't hide,' the Doctor said casually. 'So, hide.'

Donna scrabbled through her handbag for something to disguise herself with. Tissues, mobile, compact mirror, assorted fluff... nothing to help her disguise herself from an angry alien security guard.

'Help!' whispered Donna.

There was a moment of silence as the Doctor searched his vast pockets. Suddenly a baseball cap with ROCKODIN ROCKS written on it was handed over to her from across the table.

'Thanks,' Donna muttered sullenly, scooping up her hair and pushing it under the cap. 'I look like a dork.'

'Better than being dead,' commented the Doctor. 'Now, find some sunglasses.'

Donna did a thorough check of her bag again and eventually found a cheap-looking pair of sunglasses in a side pocket. She slid them on, wondering if they made her even more conspicuous, since she'd seen no-one on this planet wearing a hat and sunglasses so far.

She glanced at the bar again. The orange alien was staring at her, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in recognition.

Donna swallowed and turned to her companion. 'Doctor...?'

'What, Donna?' The Doctor turned another page of his paper, smiling as he realised he'd come to the sports section.

'He's looking at us.'

'Who?'

'The orange guy. And he's not happy.'

'That's not good. Just concentrate on being inconspicuous.'

'Well, I'm trying and ... oh no.'

Donna glanced up and peered out from underneath the brim of her baseball cap, sucking in her breath as she took in the hulking orange being standing in front of her.

'Hello,' he growled, smirking. 'Have we met before?'

'N-no,' lied Donna.

The alien burped loudly, the foul odour of some sort of drink wafting over Donna. She shuddered.

'Doctor,' she said nervously. 'I really think we should...'

'Run?' he suggested calmly from behind his paper.

'Yeah, that.'

The Doctor pulled the paper down and shoved it back in his pocket, standing up as he did so.

'You!' barked the alien, pointing a thick orange finger at the Doctor. 'Don't go anywhere! I arrest you on the behalf of the Laxonomy kingdom for interrupting a royal conference and insulting the king!'

'Um...' The Doctor shuffled forward, realising that the alien was blocking his way out of the booth.

'Doctor,' whispered Donna. 'Should I break a window?'

'No, Donna. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves.'

'I think we're drawing quite a lot of attention already, having Ugly here arresting you.'

'And you,' retorted the Doctor. 'You're an accomplice.'

The orange alien glared at them. 'Are you going to come with me?' he snarled. 'Or do I have to take you by force?'

'Well,' said the Doctor slowly. 'You haven't heard our side of the story, have you?'

The orange alien smirked. 'No, I haven't and I won't waste my time listening to it either. Now, move!'

'Hang on!' said the Doctor, holding up his finger. 'Wait, you see, you just...'

His voice trailed off as the alien pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the Doctor. The Doctor raised his hands, slowly and placed them on his head.

Donna muttered something that may or may not have been categorised as a swear word on Earth.

The alien swivelled around to point his gun at Donna. 'You too, Ginger.'

Donna fumed.

'Ahem,' said the Doctor, who despite the situation, decided that he wasn't going to give up that easily. 'Actually, I think you might have to review your laws here. Because, although insulting the king of Laxonomy is an offence, I didn't really, kind of, sort of insult him. Y'see?'

The orange being growled, pointed the gun at the Doctor and pulled back the trigger.

'No,' he replied, snarling. 'I do not see!'

What happened next was that the rather hostile alien holding the gun was suddenly distracted by the scuffed and grey high-heel thrown at his head.

'Laxonomy's liver!' he yelled, releasing the trigger and shooting at point-blank range.

A green bullet hurtled towards a sleepy-looking blue-skinned alien in the next booth along. It smashed his glass and orange, fizzy liquid spread across the table.

The liquid dripped onto the floor. The orange alien, disorientated by the flying shoe connecting with his skull, took a few dizzy steps backwards and slipped over in the drink, cursing in Laxonomian as he landed on his backside in orange fizz.

Two young and rather drunk Gravatemies, who up until then had been loudly singing a rude song about one of their ex-girlfriends, stood up and demanded to know what was going on.

The bartender came out to see what the chaos was, yelling while wiping his nine fingers on his apron and wondering whether he should call the insurance company, his psychiatrist or his mother first.

And in the midst of all this, another grey and scuffed high-heel was thrown at full force through the window of the Doctor and Donna's booth.

_SMASH! _

The cracks spread and then the shattered sheet of glass fell out, leaving room for one Time Lord and his now barefooted companion to climb out, almost unnoticed.

'I will never,' panted the Doctor, as they ran away from the bar and down the street, 'never, _ever_ complain about your choice of footwear again.'

'Good,' said Donna, wincing as she stepped on something sharp. 'Now, do you know if there's a shoe shop on this planet that sells combat boots?'

'Combat boots?' asked the Doctor incredulously.

'Yeah,' replied Donna. 'If Orange Lump shows up again, I think I'll need them.'


End file.
